


Down to Earth

by torino10154



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-11
Updated: 2009-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torino10154/pseuds/torino10154





	Down to Earth

_**Down to Earth**_  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Pairing(s):** Draco/Neville, implied past Draco/Asteria  
**Summary:** Draco returns to Hogwarts and Neville teaches him a thing or two about leaving the past behind.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. They belong to JKR.  
**Warnings:** Oral, handjob, mud *cough*  
**Word Count:** ~3300  
**Author's Notes:** Thank you to [gryffindorj](http://gryffindorj.insanejournal.com/) for the once over, [suntzu_s](http://suntzu-s.insanejournal.com/) for the Britpick, and [jadzialove](http://jadzialove.insanejournal.com/) for the beta. Any mistakes that remain are mine alone. Written for [xnevillelovingx](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/xnevillelovingx/)'s 30 Days of Neville.

Draco pulled on his teaching robes for the first time, smoothing them down in the mirror. Finding work after his divorce had been problematic, that much was true. His son must have mentioned in passing to his best friend something of Draco's troubles. Said friend's father certainly was influential—even one with the infamous name of Malfoy could be offered a job teaching with the Saviour's recommendation. Draco pretended he didn't know anything about that: it was too humiliating. But he had few options after Asteria walked away with his Galleons.

Draco was soon introduced to the staff. Some were familiar like Angelina Johnson-Weasley, coaching Quidditch, and Lavender Brown, teaching the History of Divination and Other Mystical Studies. There were also professors from abroad teaching Arithmancy and Charms.

The door to the staff room swung open with a thud and in walked a very dirty Neville Longbottom, Professor of Herbology and Head of Gryffindor House.

"Sorry I'm late. You just can't leave those adolescent mandrakes alone for a minute before they are trying to get into each other's pots." That earned him a hearty laugh from the other professors.

For all intents and purposes, they should have nothing to say to one another. Their similarities were limited to the fact that they were both pure-bloods. Oh, yes. They were also both professors now, as well.

Draco had spent a large part of his time at school insulting and berating Longbottom at every opportunity. Childhood bullies were not easily forgotten, but perhaps even more painful was the situation with Neville's parents. Draco didn't hold himself accountable for the actions of his aunt in any way, but he knew if _he_ were Longbottom and _his_ parents were permanent residents of St. Mungo's, he'd not likely forget.

Malfoys didn't _do_ guilt. However, Draco was trying to start over and quite possibly the biggest obstacle would be someone that tied him to the past.

"Professor Longbottom," Headmaster Bradley, an old-school Ravenclaw, said formally, "might I introduce our new Potions Master, Draco Malfoy." Draco braced himself, fashioning a retort to whatever snide comment the man would have on his lips.

Longbottom held out his earth-tinted hand, a wide smile on his still boyish face. "Professor. Please call me Neville." The rough hand held Draco's lily-white one in a sure grip, the warmth of his grasp running up Draco's arm.

That was unexpected.

Draco cleared his throat to cover the too long pause before his response. "Of course, _Neville_. You must return the favour and call me Draco."

Neville finally let go of his hand, and Draco tried not to let his face show the disappointment and confusion he felt at its loss. "When you have time, come 'round to the greenhouses. Number Three has the bulk of the plants you'll require for your classes."

"I'll be the judge of that," Draco sniffed, finding his voice after being wrong-footed for much of the conversation.

Neville just laughed, eyes bright. "You haven't changed a bit."

As he turned away, Draco couldn't help but wonder just when Neville had.

~~*~~

 

Two months into term, and Draco wondered how someone as misanthropic and bitter as Severus Snape had lasted so many years as a professor. The students were rude, lazy, and foolish in the extreme. Just this morning, two Hufflepuffs managed to explode the cauldron they shared, as well as turn each other's hair green in the process.

Maybe a trip to Hogsmeade for a little Firewhiskey was in order. Longbottom—no—Neville had asked him more than once to join the other professors for a drink, but he wasn't comfortable with them just yet. No one was outright rude, but they were cold, standoffish.

All except Neville.

Taking his heavy cloak from the peg behind the door to his chambers, Draco made his way to the Entrance Hall, and then down the path to Hogsmeade.

Maybe a little alcohol would loosen Neville's tongue, and Draco could find out just what he was playing at. Because there had to be something. Didn't there?

The brisk walk did him good; put a spring in his step not often there. Walking through the doors, Draco was met by Rosmerta's teenage daughter, Rosaline Shaklebolt—and hadn't _that_ been an interesting development all those years ago.

"Professor Malfoy," she said with a smile. "We've been waiting for you to make an appearance. First one's on the house tonight. What'll ya have?"

Removing his cloak, Draco looked around the room. When he spotted Neville, drinking a Firewhiskey neat, he nodded in his direction and said, "I'll have what he's having."

If possible, her smile became even wider. "Lovely," she replied. "Will you be joining the other professors then?"

Lavender Brown, who had always been so insipid, was laughing, hanging all over Neville. Draco had to fight a combination of repulsion and, if he were honest with himself, jealousy. Deciding honesty was for fools, he smothered that sentiment and instead raised his head with a sniff.

"Perhaps I'll take that table in the corner."

"Are you su—"

"Absolutely," he snapped.

She led him over to the table and set his drink down a little too hard, the drink sloshing over the side. He was going to protest, but she immediately wiped it up and Summoned the bottle to top it off, before leaving without a word.

Suddenly deflated, Draco knocked back the drink, the liquor burning his throat as it went down. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them when he heard the scrape of a chair.

The other chair at his table that was now occupied by Neville.

"I thought you might be joining us," Neville said, his face not giving anything away.

"I didn't want to intrude," Draco replied before waving for another drink.

"You aren't intruding. I've been asking you to meet us for weeks," Neville replied and indicated a drink for himself when Rosaline came back with the bottle.

"Just leave it, Rosie," Neville said to the girl as she began to take the half-full bottle.

"Of course, Professor," she said, smiling kindly at him before glaring at Draco. Neville laughed, then tossed back his drink. Draco watched his Adam's apple bob as the burning fluid slipped down his throat. He looked away, hoping the blush he felt wasn't apparent in the dimly lit pub. Draco poured himself another and knocked it back.

"The students getting to you?" Neville asked earnestly, and Draco was thankful for the change of subject.

When he went to bed that night he could almost pretend he hadn't noticed Neville's strong hands caressing his glass, the way the light had played off his hair, the laughter they shared almost as if they were friends. He dared not admit even to himself how much he longed for something more.

~~*~~

Draco didn't question his attraction to men. He'd known he was interested in both sexes for as long as he'd been having wet dreams. He was much more concerned that the object of his apparent affection—or at least lust—was so much of what he'd learned to abhor as a child. A Gryffindor, a do-gooder, the very antithesis of a Slytherin. It disgusted him that he found those things attractive, almost endearing. His easygoing mannerisms, the way he was so well liked among their colleagues.

Draco sighed. That was the root of the problem. Neville got along famously with just about everyone. Why on earth would he be interested in someone with so little to offer? Someone like Draco.

Walking into the Great Hall, Draco stopped abruptly when he heard his name. He took two steps back and found himself around a corner from Angelina Johnson-Weasley and Lavender Brown.

"Just let him sit there! You know he's dying to get closer to him," Johnson-Weasley said in exasperation with her companion.

"All right, all right. I just love watching Neville make doe eyes at him though. It's so adorable." Lavender giggled, their voices becoming distant as they walked away.

_What?_ Draco was confused. He was _always_ stuck next to Brown. She insisted on trying to read his tea leaves, murmuring about romance and his heart's desire and—

Now Neville was sitting in her chair.

_Fuck._

He smoothed his hair and ran his hands down his robes. He could do this. It was just a change in seating pattern, nothing more. Striding up to the table, Draco feigned shock.

"Couldn't find another chair, Longbottom?" he said silkily as he slid into his own chair.

Neville grinned. "Nah, just doing a favour for Angelina really. She's been begging me to switch spots with Lavender for ages."

The truth to be sure, but did Neville know the girls were plotting something between them?

Draco pressed, "Hard to believe those two are so close. They almost seem like they are up to some thing."

"I haven't been completely honest with you." The blush that threatened to spread across Neville's face was utterly charming and Draco couldn't help but stare. . . .

"What are you playing at?" Draco finally said in barely more than a whisper.

"One thing I can promise," Neville said, his face completely open, "I am _not_ playing at anything." He sat up straight again and began to butter a piece of bread, leaving Draco at a loss for anything to say in reply.

Draco ate his dinner quietly, hardly noticing the words that flew about the room, floating from mouth to ear. Taking a bite of pudding, he suddenly had a perfect plan. Wiping his face on his napkin, he gently laid it to rest on the table next to his nearly empty plate. He slipped his hand under the table and very slowly moved it until he felt the rough wool of Neville's robes. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, but to his shock, Neville didn't pull away. Instead, Draco felt Neville's thigh shift closer, his legs slightly splayed.

Now it was Draco's turn to inhale. He hadn't moved a muscle, but he imagined reaching into those robes, searching for the firm flesh beneath. That they sat in front of all of the students sent a thrill of naughtiness through him. Neville continued talking with the Charms professor and after several minutes placed his hand over Draco's and gave it a squeeze.

"I need to tend the hellebore, Professor," he said to the other as he released Draco's hand. Turning to Draco, he then said, "Care to join me, Professor Malfoy? You might be interested to see how it reacts to the Thestral fertilizer."

Draco scrunched up his nose involuntarily. "That's disgusting."

Neville laughed. "Have those manicured hands ever tended the ingredients your livelihood relies on?"

"I think I have other plans for the evening," Draco said, unhappy at the turn of events. "Good evening, Professor. Professor D'Anvers." He stood and took his leave, not looking back.

He considered a walk on the grounds, perhaps even smoking a cigarette. He only craved them when his nerves were shot. When Asteria left him and tried to take Scorpius away from him his habit had reached upward of two packs a day. Fortunately, they'd come to an agreement, wherein she got an awful lot of money and he still played a role in his son's life.

He hoped he hadn't failed Scorpius completely, but considering how much time the boy, nearly a young man now, spent with the Potters during the summer holidays, perhaps Potter beat him at fatherhood as well. At least Draco was able to spend more time with Scorpius this year, the boy's final year at Hogwarts.

Lost in thought, he only heard the boots on stone when it was too late and Neville was fast approaching.

"What's with the dramatic exit?" Neville said, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Did you have to make a scene in front of everyone?" Draco snapped.

"Says the man who groped me at the Head Table."

"I did no such thing," Draco whispered, his cheeks heating with the false denial.

"_I_ didn't storm out of the Great Hall," Neville said, his lips twitching, arms across his chest. He seemed to be watching Draco closely.

"No, but _you_ seem to want everyone to know there is something going on between us."

"Is there something going on between us?" Neville took a step closer practically crowding Draco against the cold stone wall. He felt a bit claustrophobic.

"For God's sake, I don't know, but I don't want to talk about it here." He looked around to see if anyone was watching them, but the Entrance Hall was deserted.

Neville reached out his hand and very gently rested it on Draco's arm. "Then let's go somewhere else, where we _can_ talk about it. Let me show you the hellebore."

Draco snorted. "That's the worst pickup line ever."

"It seems to have worked though," Neville replied as they began walking toward the heavy doors of the castle.

Draco found he couldn't argue the point.

~~*~~

 

The brisk air calmed him as they walked toward the greenhouses. They were both adults not students anymore, surely they could discuss their needs, their _desires_ in a reasonable, rational way. Slytherins were expert in the art of negotiations.

"Finally," Neville murmured as he unwarded the door, gesturing that Draco should enter before him.

"I've got the hellebore over on the left hand side. For some reason, if I keep it too close to the mandrakes they get belligerent," Neville said as he picked up a trowel. "Come take a look." Draco followed him over, less interested in plants and more interested in the way the fitted robes accentuated the curve of the man's arse.

Neville began digging and Draco was sure he was explaining something about the roots and the Thestral dung and all Draco wanted were those strong hands roaming over his body not shifting dirt and herbs.

"Don't you agree?" Neville asked, looking at Draco waiting for a reply.

"Yes, of course," Draco said testily. "What?" he said, when Neville continued watching him.

"You haven't heard half of what I've said, have you?" He put down his trowel and wiped his hands on a rag, although they remained somewhat dirty. Slowly he approached Draco, never taking his eyes off him. When they were mere inches apart, Neville pressed his earthy hand to Draco's pale cheek. When no objection was forthcoming, Neville slipped his hand to the nape of Draco's neck and pressed his warm lips to Draco's. Opening his lips, Draco moaned as Neville's tongue slipped into his mouth to gently lap against his, running over his teeth before pushing in once more.

Calm and rational were overrated, Draco thought as he lost himself in the kiss. His hands came to life and wrapped around Neville's waist, pulling him closer. Neville redoubled his efforts at the contact, hands running through Draco's hair, teeth clicking as they devoured each other.

Very slowly, both their hips began to grind, Draco's hardening length finding Neville's answering one. Finally, after what seemed like hours but must have only been a few minutes, they broke apart, panting, as if air were being sucked from the room and this was their last chance to breath it.

"I've been wanting to kiss you for ages," Neville said a wry grin on his face.

Draco scoffed. "You couldn't wait until we were somewhere more appropriate?"

"Where would have been more appropriate, Professor Malfoy, the Astronomy Tower like two seventh years?" Neville said, kissing along Draco's jaw.

"Perhaps somewhere that didn't smell like Thestral dung," Draco retorted his hands moving of their own accord into Neville's silky hair.

"It's like being in the great outdoors." Neville slipped one of his hands into Draco's robes and it was with great difficulty that Draco managed to form a reply.

"I've never found the outdoors to be all that great. Ooh—" Draco moaned as Neville stroked his prick expertly. He forgot all about where he was, thinking only of the pleasure he was experiencing at Neville's hand. The twist of the wrist, the way his palm dragged across the head of Draco's cock drove the blond mad. He closed his eyes, his head falling back, exposing his neck to Neville's warm tongue. He wasn't disappointed when he felt the rough muscle drag along the column of his neck, his teeth occasionally nipping at the damp skin.

"Do you trust me?" Neville said huskily into Draco's ear. Draco could hardly focus on the words, but when a man had his hand on your cock, it went without saying that you trusted him implicitly. Draco nodded and for a moment, Neville's hand abandoned his task. Draco was about to protest when the hand returned, slick with a cool, earthy smelling—

"What is that?" Draco asked unable to hold his tongue any longer.

"Mud from beneath the Hogwarts rosebushes," Neville said softly, his hand sliding up and down Draco's length. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever felt. His skin radiated heat from every point of contact, washing over him in waves. Neville's free hand reached behind him, kneading the muscles of his arse.

Draco looked down at the mud on his prick and Neville's hand, mesmerized and horrified all the same. "It's so filthy."

"Yesss," Neville nearly hissed. "It's wonderful. Excellent for a long, slow wank."

"Oh, God!" Draco cried out as Neville twisted his hand around the head of Draco's cock, working him roughly. It was more than he could take. He felt his balls tightening. Gripping Neville's shoulders he pulled the man to him, desperate for a taste of him as his orgasm ripped through him. He clenched his eyes closed, the reality of the mess they'd made in the forefront of his mind.

Neville kissed him softly on the lips. "Accio rag," he said quietly. He caught it in his hand and wiped some of the mud and come from it. Draco's hand reached forward and brushed against Neville's robes. He was still hard.

_Good._

Kneeling down, Draco parted Neville's robes. Reaching inside the waistband of his pants, Draco slid them down just to mid-thigh. He wrapped his hand around the silky hard flesh and slipped the head of Neville's cock into his mouth. He ran his tongue along the foreskin, drawing a gasp from Neville's well-kissed lips. Draco moved one hand to Neville's balls, rolling them gently, while his mouth bobbed along the length always giving a lick to the tip as he came to the head. He then swallowed the entire length down deeply, his nose resting in the nest of curls at the base. Hips surging forward, Neville held Draco's head, mud-stained fingers gripping his hair none too delicately. He knew Neville wouldn't last.

"Oh, _fuck_," the only words of warning Neville gave Draco before bitter come exploded into his mouth. Neville pulled his hips back as Draco licked the last droplets of come from Neville's oversensitive cock. Draco knelt, panting. When he looked up, Neville was looking down at him with both affection and desire. Draco was nearly undone. The intensity of the man's gaze was astounding. He tried to look away but Neville's hand came to rest on his cheek holding him in place.

"That was brilliant," Neville said helping Draco to his feet.

"Perhaps next time we can go somewhere a little cleaner." Draco didn't even want to imagine what he looked like as he took in Neville's disheveled appearance.

"It just so happens there is a shower in Greenhouse Four. In case of emergencies," Neville replied, his lips curving into a grin.

"I believe that perhaps this _is_ an emergency," Draco said as he ran a hand through his no doubt appalling hair, fingers catching in the dried earth. Neville reached over and brushed a bit of fallen dirt from Draco's shoulders.

Moving as if in slow motion Neville leaned in and slipped his tongue into Draco's mouth, "I couldn't agree more."


End file.
